


A Sweet Pet

by Iron



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Dom/sub, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pet Play, nonsexual kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:02:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23812759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iron/pseuds/Iron
Summary: Optimus Prime and Prowl both need the same thing. They provide it for each other.—Prowl Week Day 5: “Command”
Relationships: Optimus Prime/Prowl
Comments: 1
Kudos: 45
Collections: Prowl Week





	A Sweet Pet

It starts, as always, with the collar. The material is heavy, wires braided into a thick rope with a tag attached to the front. The metal of it is oxidized white and red, the tag a cleaning round coin of gold, with his owner’s name carved into the front. He bows his helm as his master closes the lock at the nape of his neck. The brush of fingers over his bare plating makes him shiver. 

His hands are guided into blunt-fronted gloves, buckled tight just below his elbows. They forced his fingers to curl into the cavities there, leaving him with mobility only in his knuckles. Gentle hands guide him to his knees, so his owner can attach ties to the wheels in his ankles and up, threading them through a bar on the outside of his thighs. There’s just barely enough give to let him extend his leg, so his thighs are perpendicular to the floor while his lower legs lie flat on the floor. His engine falls into a smooth idle as magnetic ears are attached to his helm, fussed over until they’re perfectly positioned. The tail follows a moment later, hooking into the jack at the base of his spine. He flinches as the programming unfolds in his helm, tail whipping against his leg as it jolts to life. 

“There, there,” Optimus scratches behind one ear. “I’m almost done, Prowler. Almost ready for you.” A soft jelly treat is presented in his open palm, and Prowler leans down to take it delicately between his teeth. Optimus runs a hand down his spine. “Beautiful.” The magnetic lock over his array clicks into place, and Prowl lets himself down, down, down. 

Optimus clicks the leash into place and takes Prowler through his usual paces. Three walk-arounds the room, letting Prowler get used to the gloves. Optimus walks him towards the center of his bathroom, coming him with two sharp clicks of his tongue to _sit_. 

Prowler drops his aft to the floor, spine straight, hands between his knees. He looks at Optimus with almost eager optics, nose in the air. When Optimus presents the treat to him he takes it primly. The only thing to give away how eager he’s feeling is the _thwap_ of the tail against the floor. He rolls the treat around in his mouth, humming with genuine pleasure as flavor bursts over his glossa. “Good boy.” The thump rubbing at the edge of his jaw is almost as good as those magic words, pleasure blooming across his frame. He leans into the touch. Optimus makes a pleased little noise at the gesture. 

“You getting tired, Prowler? You want to get up on the couch with me while I work on data work?” 

Prowler, ever eager for the approval and affection of his owner, wags his tail and turns his helm towards the couch in front of the viewscreen. Optimus clicks his tongue, the command allowing Prowler to break form completely and pull himself up onto the couch. He waits until Optimus has settled against one arm of the couch to flop down, bumper slung over one of his thighs and helm resting against Optimus’s arm. Optimus lets a laugh build up in his chest, spilling out as he rests the datapad on Prowl’s shoulder. “Comfortable, Prowler?” 

Prowler purrs his engine, content to float in the nowhere in-between state of being a cyberhound. Occasionally Optimus pets his side, or his doorwing, or presses a treat to his mouth when he needs to trade out datapads. Eventually he’s done with his datawork. Prowler is still stretched out on his lap and nearly asleep, content, frame warm and engine humming gently. 

Rubbing the edge of his real audial, Optimus considers his pretty little pet. “Should we sleep on the couch tonight, Prowler? I don’t feel like getting up just to go back down.” He tilts his helm back over the edge of the couch; he can see his berth, not five feet away, and could not possibly force himself to his feet right now. 

Prowler yawns, sitting up slowly. Cold air fills the space where he was cuddling against Optimus. “Mrrph,” he chirps, rolling off the couch in an undignified pile of limbs. He looks up sadly at Optimus. 

“Alright, alright. A proper berth for us both.” Optimus scoops his little pet up gently, stumbling to his berth. Almost as soon as he’s laid down he has his cyberhound pressed against his stomach, warming the berth. Optimus thumbs the hooks keeping his legs from extending, letting them loose. No reason Prowl has to be sore just because Prowler has short legs, after all. 

He’s about to wish Prowler sweet dreams when he realizes he’s already asleep. Optimus cups the edge of his jaw, sighing. “I’ll see you in the morning, Prowl.” His pet sleeps on, oblivious.


End file.
